INSIDE THE LIE
by JennyLB
Summary: An explosion traps John and Joss and provides the setting for Joss to delve deeper into John's past. This story is an intermingling of fanfiction and real events from the show. Dialogue taken directly from the show is written in italics.
1. Trapped

Chapter One: Trapped

March 2013

"Carter, I'm following him into the Federal Reserve Bank on Liberty," John Reese spoke into his cell phone. He paused a moment to listen for Joss Carter's response.

"I'm almost there," Joss answered back, her voice raspy from walking very fast. She knew that the present situation John was in was potentially dangerous, and she didn't want to take any chances.

Their current person of interest was 33 year old Martell Russo, and John and Finch had narrowed down the perpetrator to be Martell's estranged husband, Dominick. Martell worked as a teller at the Federal Reserve Bank, and Dominick was rushing there clad in a long black overcoat covering his body, dark sunglasses covering his face, and a New York Yankees baseball cap covering his head.

The moment John had spotted Dominick that morning hailing a cab, he knew that the husband looked as though he was ready to take action—whatever that was. As John followed him closer and closer to Liberty Street, he knew Dominick was heading to the bank and it wasn't going to end well for someone. He then called Joss.

Joss knew that when John launched the emergency flares, he really needed her. He didn't call as often as Finch did because John, in her estimation, took way too many chances. So she abruptly left her desk and headed toward Liberty Street.

As she entered the building, Joss could see John standing in the center of the large lobby with his arms outstretched. Other people also stood motionless throughout the room. Many looked as though they had been trying to seek refuge under a table or behind anything that might shield them from the impending danger.

As Joss entered the doors, all of them—except for John—turned to look at her and away from the unkempt, unshaven, stocky man in the long black overcoat. He was in the lobby between John and the teller counter where Martell stood frozen with an expression of horror on her face. That was when Joss saw what John and the others had seen: Dominick holding a semi-automatic pistol with one hand and his coat open with the other, exposing the bomb vest he was wearing.

John's eyes continued to be dead-locked on Dominick.

Dominick's hands were shaking as he screamed out, "I told you till death do us part!"

"It doesn't have to end this way," John calmly stated.

"Who are you? Why are you involved in my business?" Dominick yelled as he looked over at John.

John could hear Finch talking in his ear through his earpiece.

"John…John…this situation looks really bad. I'm…I'm not sure what to do," Finch muttered from the library into his cell phone to his partner. Finch continued after taking a short breath, "I just don't understand why the Machine is not giving us enough warning anymore." He was greatly worried about the Machine and about John. However, he had witnessed John getting out of some pretty harried situations, so his focus shifted back and forth between the failings of the Machine and his partner.

"Mr. Russo, let us help you," Joss said as she approached where John was standing.

"I told my baby we would be together forever," Dominick cried with his heavy New York accent. "I meant till death do us part…. I meant it baby…I meant it. I thought you meant it, too."

Tears began running in pelts down Martell's face.

"I meant it baby…don't you understand?" Dominick said as he, too, wept.

John interjected, "It's going to be okay Dominick. Can I call you Dominick?"

Dominick turned around again to look at John with an inquisitive look on his face. "Who are you? How do you know my name?" he quietly and slowly asked John.

John didn't immediately answer. After a few silent moments, he calmly stated, "I'm here to help you."

"I don't care who you are!" Dominick yelled as he reached down, fumbling his hands throughout the vest as he maintained eye contact with John. He then broke their stare and looked down toward the bottom of his bomb vest.

John wasn't sure what Dominick was doing but hoped that the heavy vest was getting uncomfortable.

At that moment, several people saw that Dominick was preoccupied and began scurrying toward tables and chairs under which they could try and shield themselves from harm's way. Dominick didn't respond to their movement. His target was behind the steel and Formica counter; the others were irrelevant to him.

"That vest looks heavy and uncomfortable, Dominick. Why don't you go ahead and take it off. You've made your point," John stated as he glanced up at Martell, seeing her face smeared with black lines of mascara that had joined her tears as they ran down her cheeks.

Dominick frantically fumbled with the vest. He then threw down his gun and allowed both hands to pat at the bottom of the vest.

John saw the gun coming to the floor as a positive sign that perhaps Dominick wasn't as prepared as he should have been.

Joss, on the other hand, was still quite alarmed by the vest, "I'm NYPD! Get down under the counter!" she yelled toward the tellers. "The rest of you take cover as best as you can!"

Within a few seconds, Martell and her fellow tellers ducked under the countertop. Several people in the lobby began running toward the bank's side exit door.

"Marty, don't you get it?" Dominick screamed. "You took the same vows! It was till death do we part. Don't you see? We have to go out together…. Here…now."

Martell could be heard weeping under the counter.

"Our vows didn't say you could leave me...and then screw someone else!"

Joss yelled toward the counter, "Do not come out from under that counter! Stay where you are unless you hear me telling you otherwise!"

Dominick turned to look at Joss, his expression shifting to manic.

John likened Dominick's expression to Jack Nicholson's in The Shining when he imitated Ed McMahon. He then began moving toward Dominick.

Joss could see that John, as usual, was not thinking about his own safety. For as long as she had known him, he always acted as though he carried a death sentence. He was always so eager to sacrifice himself and put himself in harm's way. She reached forward and grabbed John's arm. "No," she whispered. "We need to get back. Martell…the others…are out of the direct path of harm. Now I need you to do the same."

John looked at her. He wasn't used to such genuine concern. He had been growing accustomed to Finch, but now there was Carter entering into the equation. He tensed against her grasp.

"John…listen to her!" Finch yelled into his cell phone.

John reached up and turned off his ear piece, cutting his direct tie with Finch. He knew things might not end well, and he didn't want Finch to also have to endure this situation in the event that it didn't end well.

Joss clinched down harder onto John's arm as she said, "No John." Her eyes then caught his. She could tell that he was torn as to what to do.

Then they both were alerted by Dominick's actions. He abruptly moved his hands upwards away from the vest until they could see that he was holding a small cylindered object connected to a wire to the bottom of the vest.

It was the kill switch.

"He's got the kill switch in his hand," John calmly whispered to Joss, who continued to clinch even harder on his arm.

Joss knew that John's instinct would be to rush forward and tackle the man.

John recognized what she was doing, and he could feel her fingernails digging into his arm. "My piece," he said, as he wriggled free of her grasp. "We need to take him out of commission."

Joss grabbed at John and caught his hand, pulling him back away from Dominick.

John allowed Joss's insistent tugs to force him backwards. He never made a move he wasn't sure of, but in this instance, he had to trust that Joss knew what she was doing.

Dominick was getting increasingly nervous, constantly glancing up at the clock on the wall behind the teller counter. His hands were shaking almost uncontrollably, and sweat and tears continually ran down his face.

Getting behind a center column, both John and Joss reached for their guns to take Dominick down. But, before they could even level their weapons, they heard the explosion. Neither of their brains had time yet to comprehend that Dominick had already pushed the kill switch. The explosion was massive.

Everything at that moment felt like slow motion to them both.

John's brain focused on protecting Joss. He needed to make sure she was safe...having brought her into that situation. He then grabbed her as the explosion pushed them backwards and then down. He shielded her underneath him.

Joss conceded to John's protective instinct.

John could feel debris flying around and pieces of the ceiling caving in on top of him. He was cognizant of continuing to shield Joss under his large frame to protect her from the fallout of the explosion that was happening all around them.

The next moment all was dusty and black with screams and coughs coming from various places throughout the bank. John could hear that a water line had burst. Then he heard the buzzing and hums of computers and other electrical appliances that had been caught in the cross wires of the bomb. Sparks continued to fly all about the bank.

Bloody chunks of Dominick had blown all over the bank.

As the aftermath of the explosion calmed, screams then crashes could be heard as people moved debris to free themselves from the fallout.

"John…John…are you alright?" Carter muttered as she tried to catch her breath. She could feel John on top of her like a baseball glove.

"I'm okay," John softly spoke. "But it feels like something has my legs pinned."

"Let me squeeze out and see," Joss answered. She maneuvered her body out from underneath John's protective shield and slid around to his legs to see what was on top of him. "It looks like part of the ceiling…I think," she finally said. She could see that a beam had ripped the flesh on his right leg, so she believed it had to have been greatly damaged or even broken.

"Go check on the others, Joss. I'm okay. Check on the tellers and the others who were still in here."

Joss hesitated but knew he was right. She crawled out and then moved throughout the bank to try and find survivors. "If you're alive and able, please show yourself!" Joss screamed. She coughed as the dust burned her throat. "I'm NYPD! Please come out if you can!"

John clicked on his earpiece and stated, "Finch, we're okay. Dominick took himself out…."

"Oh thank God," Finch answered. "Martell…the others?" he asked.

"I don't know yet. Joss went to check."

"John…" Finch exclaimed, his voice revealing his relief that John was alive. "Are you hurt?"

"Just my leg. I'm pinned, but I'm alive," he answered. "I'll check in with you as soon as I can. Okay Harold? Try not to worry."

"Okay, John," Harold answered, exhaling a long pent-up breath. He got ready to tell John that he would take care of everything on his end but noticed that John had hung up. "First things first," Harold muttered aloud as he bustled throughout the library, not really thinking clearly.

John could hear Joss in the distance continuing to call for people to answer her if they could.

The six bank tellers, including Martell, each screamed out that they were trapped and slightly hurt but still alive, having been protected by the steel counter. Several other people lay about on the floor with injuries from the ball bearings, nails, and screws Dominick had used to make his vest. As Joss made her way around the lobby, she located three of the customers who had perished in the explosion. The others, although injured, seemed to have been protected fairly well from the immediate result of the blast.

Hearing the slight sound of sirens in the distance, Joss breathed a sigh of relief that help was on its way. She turned to go back to where John was lying to get an overall estimation of the extent of his injuries. As she crawled back, she could see the stream of water from the burst pipes running throughout the old oak floor.

John could hear Joss coming back to him and was conscious to control his breathing. His leg was in a great deal of pain. Cold air from the opening created by the blast in the side wall near the ceiling and the cold water running in streams toward him made his body temperature drop below normal. He could feel places on his forehead, arms, and chest that had been pierced with pieces of the shrapnel or debris. That pain was tolerable, though, he concluded. As he lay on his side, he could feel something sharp under the side of his rib cage, which caused him discomfort as he breathed. But as he saw Joss coming into sight, he brought his breathing back to a normal state so as to not alarm her of his injuries. He needed her to remain calm.

"John, you still okay?" Joss asked as she approached him.

Without moving his head, John shifted his eyes upwards to catch Joss's eyes. He forced a smile on his face. "Still here, Carter," he smirked at her.

"Did you hear the sirens?" Joss asked.

John raised his eyebrows.

"Help's not too far away. Just hang in there with me. Okay?"

"How many didn't make it?" John asked.

From his voice, she could tell he was in pain and having a difficult time breathing. She then felt the frigid March air and saw that the cold water had saturated his clothes and was running off from him in little bloody pools. "John, I want to try to see where all you've been injured."

John didn't respond. His eyes were closed, and his breaths were short and sharp.

Joss began moving off of him all of the debris that she could lift so she could get a better idea of his injuries.

"John! Stay with me, okay?" she said as she looked him over as best as she could. Most of his wounds looked painful but not life threatening.

"Talk to me, John. Okay? Tell me something I don't know about you," she said as she dabbed with her shirttail at the wound on his forehead near his temple.

As he felt her hands dabbing at his head, John opened his eyes and looked at her. He was feeling groggy from the wound but knew that she was right.

John gave out a little laugh. "That's quite an exhaustive list...and could take a year or more," he spoke in a low, calm tone. "And I hope it doesn't take that long to get us out of here."

"Come on, John. You know what I mean. Tell me something. Just talk to me. I don't care what it is. You need to stay alert until the emergency crews get us out of here.

"Okay," John said. Then there was a long pause.

Joss could tell that he was trying to decide what he would share with her. She waited without saying anything but then shifted her weight in her seated position to be closer to his face. She sat upon a few pieces of debris to avoid the direct path of the cold water flowing toward them.

"Did you know I was born in Puyallup, Washington?"

"I knew somewhere in Washington State," Joss answered.

John then paused a moment. "You know, I wasn't always like this," he stated a few moments later.

Joss thought that that was a strange thing to say but held back responding.

"When I was in the Army, I loved my job…I believed in what I was asked to do. I understood the differences between right and wrong…good and evil. The enemy was clear…. I always knew what I needed to do…and I understood why. My country needed me, and I gave her everything."

"I know exactly what you're saying," Joss interjected.

"I know you do." Then he paused for several more minutes. "As a Green Beret, I believed…"

Joss heard John's voice trail away but saw that he was still awake and alert. She waited quietly beside him.

"I served nine years before…" John said as his voice trailed off again.

"Before what?"

"Before…the NC...S…." John answered with the _S_ spoken at barely an audible level.

Joss shook her head up and down. She knew that he was in the National Clandestine Service of the CIA, but she didn't know anything about his CIA career except that he was connected to many crime scenes around the world. Much of his CIA career, however, was classified with crime scene reports having been redacted. She herself had destroyed the only file she had been able to obtain from when he was in the Special Forces stationed at Fort Lewis in 2001.

John slightly shook his head from side to side. "In Operation Enduring Freedom, my mission was unconventional warfare. But it made sense." He then paused. "I made a difference."

Joss waited quietly. She knew that even though this had to have been hard for him, she believed he needed a friend to talk to.

"While in Afghanistan, we had a joint mission with the Special Operations Group. I was proud to be a Green Beret. I never intended to leave." John shook his head as though he realized he shouldn't be talking.

Joss knew that CIA training drilled complete secrecy into its officers. Even though people skills were important to get into the CIA, she knew that the training and the service itself made people detached and devious. Most agents were unable to maintain personal relationships as a result.

She presumed that this is what John was trying to say.

"I wasn't always like this," John repeated after another long pause.

"I don't understand," Joss quietly answered.

"A monster," John responded as he closed his eyes.

Joss wanted to reach forward and touch his hair or face but held back, not knowing exactly how John would respond to physical contact at that moment. She felt her throat burn with pain as she held back the emotional response her body naturally wanted to release. After a several moment pause, Joss finally stated, "Oh God, John. What have they done to you?"

Her question required no answer, so they remained there together during that moment in time in silence.


	2. Call to Duty

Chapter Two: Call to Duty

October 2002

Nine months after his deployment to Afghanistan for Operation Enduring Freedom, John had returned to the states for a 60 day leave. While in Afghanistan, he had seen death and destruction like no other time in his military career.

During this leave, he tried to rest, but he continued to see the Twin Towers in complete obliteration juxtaposed with the blood and gore of the Afghani soldiers and innocent people caught in the crossfires of the fighting. John was bothered by the innocents who were at the wrong place at the wrong time, so he constantly reminded himself that the death and destruction he brought to Afghanistan was a much needed step to restoring peace and security in his own country and to bringing justice to the over 3,000 lives lost on September 11, 2001.

He couldn't wait for the leave to come to an end so he could get back across enemy lines.

A week and a half into his leave, his commander summonsed him to a meeting. John had been unsure who else was to attend this meeting, but he went under the pretense that his future in the Special Forces was the main purpose for their meeting. He didn't believe that he had done anything wrong, so he tried not to worry.

As John approached his commander's office door, he could hear his commander in a heated discussion with another man. John paused then knocked. Apparently once they heard John's rapping on the door, they abruptly stopped shouting.

John waited until he heard his commander telling him he could enter the office. As he came through the door, he saw his commander's flushed and sweaty face and another man sitting behind him in the corner of the room, wearing a dark grey suit and smoking a cigarette.

"At ease, soldier. Have a seat," the commander said as he nodded toward the chair in front of his desk.

As ordered, John sat down.

The commander started the conversation, and John sat nervously on the other side of the desk. John thought it was odd that the man smoking the cigarette hadn't been introduced, but he knew it wasn't his place to ask.

"This isn't very common," the commanding officer stated. "And it's a real compliment to you. You have raw talent…and intelligence. Not to mention that people like and respect you." The commander then paused and took several sips of coffee. He then continued, "You have a likable face…and your physical presence demands respect."

John remained quiet.

"You've never been much of a talker, have you?" his commander asked.

John looked at his commander. He presumed that the commander wanted an answer even though the question seemed quite rhetorical. "No, sir. Only when I have something that needs to be said," he answered.

"That's one thing I've always liked about you. Anyway, this is a real compliment to you, son," the commander said again. "Here," the commander said as he thrust a stack of papers toward John. "The CIA wants you."

John took the papers. Looking down at them, he could see that it was a CIA application. He was stunned. He had never expressed any interest in leaving the Army, and he had never thought of himself as anything other than a Green Beret. He had worked alongside some CIA Paramilitary Officers from the Special Activities Division in Afghanistan to defeat the Taliban. They had crossed paths and worked together on several occasions. Some of the bloodiest and most ferocious battles he experienced in Afghanistan were with his CIA counterparts, and he had grown to respect them immensely.

But he never thought about joining them. He had his work to do and they had theirs.

Looking up, John could see his commanding officer looking back at him with a facial expression that made him look like an animal trapped in a cage. John continued to remain quiet.

The man sitting in the corner exhaled a long fog of smoke and nodded to John.

John nodded back. "I will take this under consideration," John stated, looking directly at his commander. He avoided making eye contact with the man smoking the cigarette.

The man smoking the cigarette stood up, walked toward the commander's desk, snuffed out his cigarette directly on the commander's desk, then stepped toward John. "Give careful consideration, son. Your country needs you," he stated in an ominous tone.

John glanced up at the man, "Yes, sir," he answered.

"That will be all," his commander stated with a hollow expression on his face.

John turned and left. He felt uneasy but excited at the possibility of his career heading in a different direction. He wanted to call Jessica to tell her, but he hadn't talked to her in quite a while. Their last conversation hadn't ended so well. She had been frightened and disappointed when he started talking about re-enlisting.

Immediately after 9/11, he hadn't re-enlisted even though he felt the strong pull to go back. He had tried to stay and live a normal life with Jessica, and he had tried the all-American lifestyle and dream. But as Thanksgiving made its way toward Christmas, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had to go. The pull of his obligation to his country was greater than anything else at the moment with Jessica, and that's what hurt her.

He had tried to explain to Jessica the sense of obligation he felt to avenge the innocent Americans killed on 9/11, but she had only looked at him with a facial expression of disappointment—in him and not for herself. Her expression then changed to one similar to how the innocent Afghani women and children looked at the American soldiers as they darted throughout the bombed-out streets looking for the bodies of their dead relatives.

John had never before seen that facial expression from Jessica directed toward him. And that expression was what stayed with him every day.

While they had loved one another intensely and had many moments of joy together, it was that expression that haunted his subconscious thoughts as he slept. He understood why she had looked at him as if he were a killer and not a soldier called to service. So he didn't prolong his leaving. She had cried as he packed the few items he had in a duffle bag and stood before her. She hadn't resisted him, though, as he pulled her into him and kissed her passionately.

"I love you," he had said as he held her.

"I love you, too," she had tearfully responded. After she had caught her breath, she stated, "I'll wait for you. There is no one else for me. I love you. I can wait."

"Don't wait, Jessie. Move on with your life," he had answered. He knew that that was the right thing to say. She was young and beautiful, and he knew she needed to make a life without him. He had fully believed that he wouldn't make it home this time, and he didn't want her to have to face his death.

They had then parted ways, both crying over their immediate loss of each other and the life they would have had together.

So at that moment as he headed back to the barracks, it was painfully clear that he had no one else. No family. No close friends. No one to call and tell of this news or to get advice. So as he headed back, he clutched the application packet tightly in his hand.

Over a six pack of Pabst's Blue Ribbon beer, he decided to at least complete the application and turn it in because he reasoned he really didn't have anything to lose. He didn't know at the time that he did in fact have a lot to lose.

Himself.

John's initial application process into the CIA found him being grilled over and over followed by numerous polygraph tests. He stayed in a small dank room for days on end with food and bottles of water brought in periodically. He was escorted to the bathroom several times throughout the day by expressionless and voiceless men in dark suits. After a long stretch of time, four polygraphs, and interrogations like the ones he himself had conducted on the enemy in foreign countries, he was eventually told he could leave. They said nothing else, and their facial expressions were blank and somber. The men in dark suits escorted him to the front doors and watched him as he made his way down the sidewalk.

John was exhausted by the CIA's vetting process, so he went back to his hotel and slept for a day and a half. This was the first time in several years he hadn't dreamt of bloody Afghanis or victims of 9/11. This time he had awakened to a suffocating fog that had smothered and devoured him like a python killing its prey. He jumped suddenly awake, gasping for air. Sitting on the edge of his bed and rubbing his face, he realized it was only a dream. It had felt so real, though.

Three weeks later he was summonsed back to his commanding officer and handed a letter from the CIA that he had been accepted to participate in their training program. His gut ached as though he had been punched. "Sir," he said quietly as he looked up, "Am I doing the right thing? Is this a good career move?" His commander was the only father-figure he had in his life at that time.

The commander looked away from John and said as he sat back down in his chair behind his desk, "It's a good career move." He hated to lie to the young man whom he had come to respect and care about, but he knew his own limitations.

John stared for several moments at the eagle on the CIA letterhead. "Yes, sir," he answered.

"That will be all," the commander stated.

John looked up and stared at his commander for several minutes to affix in his mind the last image of the man whom he had regarded as a father during the past few years. He then stood up from his chair and saluted his commander.

The commander stood and returned the salute.

John turned and left.

"You're now behind enemy lines," the commander quietly uttered when he saw that John had gotten outside. He followed John with his eyes as he walked away, wanting the last image of his Sergeant First Class to be the good man he had known during the past nine years. He hated to lose such a fine officer—especially to the CIA—but he knew the safest thing for him to do was to let John go without incident. He felt bad, but he feared the connectivity and ire of his own country's Central Intelligence Agency.


	3. What He Was Trying to Say

Chapter Three: What He Was Trying to Say

March 2013

"I never knew you had a choice…always assumed you were still enlisted when the towers came down," Joss stated.

John looked up at her, saying nothing in response.

"I've been wondering," Joss continued, "How much of what you told me at Rikers was true."

John shifted his head. "You know as well as I do that there's a point…."

Joss nodded in agreement. "Damn near got to that point myself," she added.

"Once you cross that point, you just don't know how to be anything else."

"Sometimes I wonder if I did reach that point. Look at me now," Joss said quietly as she looked up at the ceiling.

"That moment when the towers came down, I knew I had to go back. What I told you was true. I was scared…but scared because that whole other life I saw with Jessie I knew I'd never have. I told you that day at Rikers that the choices you make change who you become. I chose the military path over a normal life with the woman I love, and every day I think about who I would be now. I wanted to make a go at a normal life…with Jessica. I wanted that, but I just couldn't have that," John answered.

Joss looked at him, trying to visualize what he would have been like had he chosen civilian life. She tried to see him in Bermuda shorts and izod golf shirts pushing a lawn mower. She tried to visualize him at PTA meetings and driving a mini-van. None of that fit him, she determined. She then realized that if he had chosen that life with Jessica, their paths wouldn't have crossed and neither one would be trapped at that moment at the Federal Reserve Bank on Liberty Street in downtown New York City. But she couldn't imagine her life without him in it. He had made her a better cop.

"Fate's a funny thing," Joss stated.

John understood what led her to that comment.

"I made it to mid-December. The Christmas trees…the people shopping. Everyone seemed to have settled back into their lives, and all I could think about was avenging the deaths."

There was a pause between them as neither one could think of what else to say at that moment.

"I had to go, Joss. Jessica was hurt. I couldn't explain to her why I had to go because I couldn't understand it myself. There I was with a beautiful woman I loved and who loved me, and all I could think about was getting over there. I loved my job. I don't understand it, but I couldn't stay there with her. I had to go…the pull was too great."

"I understand," Joss responded. She could tell that the cold water was beginning to take its toll on John. He shivered as he talked. He didn't seem to be as self-conscious or machismo.

"How much longer could it possibly be?" Joss said as she looked away from him and stretched upward, still in her seated position, to look around to see if anyone was in sight of them. "I'll be right back," she said as she rose to her feet to see how much longer before some of the emergency crew could get to John.

When she got to the emergency crew, she saw them still removing the steel beams and debris from the teller counter and helping the frightened and injured tellers to safety. Coming upon the Fire Chief, she made sure he saw her.

"Not much longer," he said as he hoisted pieces of Formica into the corner of the room.

"Okay," Joss answered. "I think his condition is worsening. He's tough, but I can tell he's in pain."

The Fire Chief nodded at her then tossed another large piece of debris in the corner. "We have a few more to dig out here who I believe are critical."

"I understand," Joss answered. "I'll stay with him and will come get you if I think he needs to be bumped up the list."

The Chief nodded at her in respect as he said, "We've called in for back-up. It's worse here than we had originally thought. Looks like he planted several bombs around the foyer. The dogs identified three besides the one he was wearing."

"I thought the damage was too severe for one bomb," Joss responded.

"Stupid son-of-a-bitch," the chief answered as he hurled another chunk of debris to the corner.

Joss shook her head in disgust at the situation. Damn crazy people, she thought. She then made her way back toward John. As she approached him, she could see that his eyes were closed again, and he shivered as he breathed in. There was nothing she could do to stop the cold water flow or to remove the boards under his ribs so he would be more comfortable. She just wanted him to remain still until the professionals could get him out of there. She had rarely seen him unable to get himself out of harm's way, but she knew that if it hadn't been for him that she probably would have been injured or even killed. "John, it's probably better for you to stay awake and alert," Joss said as she touched the top of his forehead.

John's eyes shot open, and he jumped slightly at her touch. He then smiled at her when he realized it was she who had touched him.

"Tell me some more," Joss said. "Your story is fascinating."

After a few moments, John asked, "You know how rigorous it is to even get into a CIA training program?"

"I've only heard rumors." Joss answered. She was intrigued and surprised at how freely he was confiding in her about his CIA experience. It was unlike any agent to ever disclose information, and John Reese was certainly the poster child of secrecy. But, she reasoned, there was no love-loss between John Reese and the CIA any longer. She was fascinated, so she moved in closer to his head so she could hear his soft tones a little better.

"For a total of four years, I had to undergo…." John trailed off. He looked up at Joss.

Joss tilted her head and looked at him. She thought she understood what he was saying. She had always heard rumors about the extreme physical, mental, emotional, intelligence, and psychological testing the CIA put people through. She had heard about people—very good people—who couldn't get through their training and had cracked up mentally in the process.

"What they put me through made the Army seem like grammar school. There were times I thought I would break, then after a while I…guess…I…adjusted."

Joss looked away from him and up into the demolished ceiling of the bank.

John saw her look away from him. He understood why. He had wanted to tell her everything, but in many instances, the words weren't there for him to draw from.

They both listened a few minutes at the grinding sounds of the chainsaws and the groans of pain coming from the survivors inside the bank.

John wanted to continue and searched his brain for the words to describe his experiences. He had never told anyone his story, and it actually felt good to have someone to talk to, to trust. After several moments, he said, "I finally got clearance, and the CIA offered me a conditional job. I still had a long way to go before getting formally hired." John's voice was getting softer. "The NCS offered me a position as an Operations Officer but gave me a probationary training period. My first mission was to go to Hungary to meet my handler, Kara Stanton, and question two other operatives about a terrorist who had escaped the country on their watch."

"Oh," Joss responded.

"I didn't understand at the time, but the probationary period is where they push people beyond their limits because they want to determine the trainee's breakpoint," John said as he shifted his ribs slightly to be able to inhale more oxygen without having to undergo so much pain.

Joss could see that his pain level was getting more difficult for him to tolerate, so she leaned upwards again to see if the emergency crews were still working on getting the tellers free. She knew they had a lot of debris to clear just to get to them more easily.

"You still okay? Want me to tell them to bump you up the priority list?"

"No, Joss, I'm not as bad as I can imagine some of the other people more in the line of fire are," John answered. "I'm okay. Just hard to breathe with this board under my ribs. They're not broken, though…just my leg…I think."

"Okay, but you better tell me if you think your condition is worse than I think it is," Joss warned.

"I'm telling you about my CIA experience...what more could you possibly want?" John laughed.

Joss recognized his usual sarcasm and saw that as a positive sign.

"I thought my first mission was easy enough, John said. "Go to Hungary. Have conversation with CIA operatives. Figure out how Alim Nazir escaped the country. Fill out a report. Maybe the worst of it would be to arrest colleagues for treason."

"What happened?" Joss asked.

"That's not exactly how the CIA does business."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't ask questions. You just kill," John answered.

They both jumped to the noise of a chainsaw starting up closer to them than it had been.

Joss turned to look at him. "That's a good sign that they're getting closer to you," she offered. As she looked at him, she could see that he was staring ahead but not looking at anything. "Where'd ya go?" she asked.

John shook his head slightly and blinked his eyes several times to get back to the present with Joss. "I haven't thought about this in a while. It's a part of me. I can't shake that, but I try to keep it in the back of my brain." He then paused.

Joss looked at him to determine if he was completely saturated by the cold water. He was.

John then continued, "It was strange, but after all those years, I ran into Jessica at the airport as I left the states heading to Budapest."

"Really?" Joss asked.

"I hadn't seen or talked to her in over five years…and then…there she was. We literally bumped into each other. I had been instructed that I had no old friends, but when I saw her, I couldn't look away."

"What did you do?"

"We talked…briefly…but we talked." He wanted to tell Joss that Jessica had asked him to tell her to wait for him and that she would, but there were parts of his personal life that he couldn't bear to share with anyone. So he continued, "We talked a few minutes then parted ways. She was engaged to be married, and I knew that was best for her."

"But wasn't he…" Joss realized what she was asking and stopped.

"Yes, he was abusive. She died three years into that marriage while I was in the CIA. She had called me for help, but they sent me to China…wouldn't let me go. I had told her I was coming to help her, but they wouldn't…" John realized he was repeating himself. He then continued. "They sent me to China so Kara and I could retrieve a package, but they had plans to have us both killed…to kill each other. I don't know why. I still don't know." He paused for a few minutes then squinted his eyes. "I couldn't bring myself to shoot my partner…but Kara…she…was never one to hesitate…when she got her orders… to kill."

"Oh my God," Joss answered.

John squinted again.

Joss couldn't tell if his facial expression was from the physical pain at present or the emotional pain of his past.

"So Jessica contacted you?"

"Yes…she said she needed to talk…and I told her to wait and that I would be there to help her. But Snow sent us to Ordos, and again I chose the job. I could have saved her had I gone when she called. It was her husband's fault that she died, but ultimately, it was mine…."

"You can't say that!" Joss interrupted. "You had no way of knowing, John. You can't control other people and their actions," Joss said. She could tell that the words had no impact on him. His stare had gone blank again. She waited another moment then said, "John, people are responsible for their own decisions."

"Yes they are...and I decided to join the CIA…and decided to go to Ordos instead of helping Jessie." John then paused for several more minutes then closed his eyes and cleared his throat.

"That's not what I meant, John," Joss said.

"After Kara shot me in Ordos, I went to find Jessie as soon as I could, but it was too late…. It was…too…damn…late."

"I'm so sorry," Joss responded.

"What happens then?" he asked.

"I don't know what you mean?" Joss questioned.

"I have thought about this for a while, but I just don't know," John said.

"What?" Joss asked.

John repeated the question he had been asking for several years now, _"When you __find that one person who connects you to the world, you become someone different. Someone better. When that person is taken from you, what do you become then?"_

"I don't know," Joss responded in a voice barely above a whisper. Her own husband had been killed, and she often wondered that herself.

"It was ironic…you know? I was the one who left her behind…because I thought…she deserved better than me. I didn't know who I was any longer…I couldn't understand the pull to go back. Then I became a monster…a cold-blooded…killer. Donnelly was right," John said as he shook with cold. It was apparent his body temperature was below normal.

"What do you mean?" Joss asked.

"That night in the car…he was right. I am essentially a highly trained murderer. He was right…so right." John paused a few moments. "He said that you don't wind up that way in life by accident. I did choose that life for myself, Joss. I chose to become the monster I am."

"You are not a monster," Joss sighed as she reached forward to lay her hand on top of his hand.

John reacted to her touch then opened his hand into hers.

She couldn't look away. She had a front row seat directly into this man she had known for two years now and still knew very little about. He was an enigma to her, which intrigued her greatly.

John then continued talking. "When I was first paired with Kara, I soon realized that what she was doing was to figure out what it was I wanted above all else."

"Why?" Joss asked.

"Control," he said as he inhaled deeply. "Even the name…the name I carry now…was her," he said as he looked up at Joss. "I carry this name now…because it is…who I became…who I am." He inhaled deeply as he shuddered and said, "I can't…won't… shed this skin." He looked up at Joss then said again, "It's who I am now."

"Oh my God," Joss answered. "What did you want above all else?"

John didn't immediately answer. Then finally he said, "To love my job…to believe in what I was doing."

Joss felt a twinge in her throat. That statement, above any other that this man could have spoken, was what made him one of the most tragic people she had ever encountered. She had known that he was a man deceived and exploited by his country who was now trying to do good, but she hadn't known the details of his life.

"God," Joss uttered.

"But I went to Hungary ready to be a CIA Operative…proud that I had made it that far…ready to serve my country on an entirely different level." He paused several moments.

There were no words Joss could articulate at that moment. She held back allowing tears to escape her eyes. Her throat burned with a combination of the dust and her brain triggering the need to cry.

"I walked into that bar to meet Kara…and from that moment on, my life was no longer the same…no longer mine. She was sitting at the bar…beautiful and confident. At that moment I believed I had made the right decision…I just didn't understand…just didn't know," John said quietly.

"I think I understand," Joss gently said as she continued to hold onto his cold hand.

He closed his eyes and allowed a tear to emit and run down into his hairline.

"You don't have to tell me this, John," Joss whispered after several moments of silence between them.

John looked up at her and gave her a quick smile. "I've never talked about this. It's good…"

Without needing him to complete his sentence, Joss understood what he was trying to say. She then allowed herself to cry.


	4. Tier One Boy

Chapter Four: Tier One Boy

February 2006

Entering the bar of the hotel where he was told he could locate Kara Stanton, John immediately saw her sitting at the bar having a few drinks. She is beautiful and confident, John thought to himself as he made his way up to her.

Nodding to her, John waited for Kara to acknowledge him. "_You're the new guy, right_?"

John nodded again.

"_Let's go somewhere private so we can talk_," Kara said as she motioned for him to follow her.

As they entered the door to a backroom, John stated, "_You're Stanton. "I'm_…"

"_No. You're not. The ID NCS gave you didn't pass muster. So you're nobody_," she said with her back to him.

She is beautiful and tough, John thought. His heart was racing. He was captivated by her confidence and persona. He had rarely altered anything that the military had told him to do, so it surprised him that his handler could so casually change his new cover name. He didn't know who or what to question, so he said nothing.

Kara then turned around to face him. Looking him up and down, she continued, "_Which means I get to name you_."

John knew that naming something meant ownership. He felt conflicted.

"_Wilson maybe_," she offered. She continued, neither waiting for nor expecting an answer from him, "_No_." Then after several taut moments, she added, "_You should have a drink_."

"_I don't drink when I'm working_," John calmly stated.

"_No? Well, start_," she answered in an agitated tone.

John was stunned. He had never met anyone quite like Kara Stanton before. With her dark eyes, black hair, and strong persona, she was in many way the polar opposite of Jessica. He didn't know what to do.

"_You Tier One boys are all the same. Tense_," Kara continued. "_Tense gets us killed_."

John wasn't sure how to respond, so he remained silent. Being in the Special Forces had instilled in him a level of intensity, but he had never thought that that was a bad quality.

"_In your old job you were behind enemy lines…six…twelve months? In this job you never go back…because there is no line to cross back over. There never was. Understand?_" Kara asked.

Again, John didn't understand. He didn't know what to think. This was all new to him. The military had always made sense to him. He would go to foreign countries and kill the enemy. Once his stint was over, he would return for a while then get called back to fight another day. That made sense to him. This lady before him telling him that there were no lines…and you never go back…didn't make sense. He blinked several times in an acknowledgement to her that he had heard what she was saying. He was confident that she knew he was confused, which meant she probably also thought he was weak. He didn't want to appear weak to her, but none of what she was saying made sense.

"_So you may as well get comfortable_" Kara stated again as she nodded toward the table where she was sitting.

After John sat down, Kara asked, "_When you were in transit, did you see any old friends?_"

He reasoned that there was no way she could have known that he had seen Jessica at the airport and that they had talked. He also believed that his new partner didn't need to know his personal business. So he lied, "_No_." He held his facial expression fixed. "_Why are you asking_?" His voice was calm and controlled.

Kara reached forward to the envelope on the table and handed it to John. He opened the envelope to see a surveillance photo from the airport of him and Jessica as they stood and talked. The moment of Jessica asking him to tell her to wait for him and she would was forever frozen in a grainy, black and white surveillance photo.

John flashed back to that moment the previous day, remembering how he couldn't bring himself to ask her that directly to her face even though he so desperately wanted her to do so. He remembered that gnawing feeling in his gut as he watched her walk away, muttering those exact words to himself as he allowed his emotions to come to the surface.

Catching Kara's movement from his peripheral view, John came back to the present moment. He became aware that they didn't trust him yet, which angered but didn't surprise him. But he didn't feel the need to respond; there was truly nothing that he could have said being caught in a lie.

Kara then interrupted his thoughts, "_We know about the ex-girlfriend_."

John looked up to face her, again saying nothing in response. There was nothing he could say.

"_Like I told you, you never go back_," Kara interjected.

They were then interrupted by the door opening. The two operatives they were questioning came through the door. John was grateful for their interruption. They stood before Kara and John with their shoulders tensed back and their overwrought facial expressions disclosing two men who were uncertain of their destiny.

"_Relax_," Kara said to the two men. "_We're on the same team. Besides, where would I hide a gun in this dress_?"

"_You're Stanton, right_?" one of the men asked. "_Who's this?_"

"_I haven't decided yet_," she answered, looking John up and down again as he sat beside her. "_Miller said you like bourbon_," she said to the two operatives.

"_You know what they drink here? Plum Brandy_," the first operative said as he approached the table where Kara and John sat.

The second operative approached the table beside his partner and said, "_Shame about Miller_."

"_What happened to him_?" the first agent asked, pulling the cork out of the bourbon bottle.

Kara took a sip of her drink then answered, "_He wasn't getting the job done_. W_ord came down. Time to take the gloves off_."

John didn't know what that meant in the CIA world. He felt uneasy about their conversation and what his role was to be. It was shaking out to be a lot different than he had visualized.

The second agent looked around to his partner and asked, "_So, what can we do for you_?"

Seeing Kara look at him from his peripheral view, John answered, "_We're looking into reports that Alim Nazir was in the country last month…possibly to secure financing_."

"_We sent all of our Intel to Langley last week in the pouch_," the first agent responded.

"_And Nazir made it safely out of the country two days ago_," John answered. "_We want to know how_."

"_That's also in our Intel_," the second agent answered. _"Like we said, he must have paid customs a fortune_," the second agent said as he took a drink of his bourbon.

"_And how much did he pay you_?" Kara laughed. After a brief pause, she added as she looked over at John, "_Kidding_." She then added, "_Like I said, you boys are too tense_."

John offered a slight split-second nervous smile.

"_Here's to taking the gloves off_," Kara said as she raised her glass in a toast.

The two agents lifted their glasses. Within a second, Kara shot through the first agent's glass, hitting him squarely in his heart. Within the following second, she shot the second agent.

John sat frozen and silent, realizing what she meant by taking off the gloves and that Miller, her former partner, must have suffered the same fate. His mind began racing, and he wasn't sure what he had gotten himself into. He then saw Kara turn to look at him.

"_Harper_? _No. Not a Harper_," she calmly and casually said to him.

John continued to sit, dazed by the recent events. This mission was quite different than he had ever thought it would be. He could feel his heart beating intensely in his chest.

Kara then added, _"I need you to dispose of this…and them_."

John then saw her fling onto the table the gun she had just used to take out the two CIA agents he had thought he had come to Hungary only to question. He had never considered that they would be gunned down so inhumanly and so quickly. _"We didn't even question them_," John flatly stated as he stood up.

"_We don't have time for questions…only answers_. _These men took a bribe to let a mass murderer escape._"

"_How do we know it was them_?"

"_Anonymous source_," Kara answered.

John turned to look at her.

"_Very reliable_," she added.

John continued to stand, feeling conflicted and confused.

"_No teeth. No fingertips_," Kara said as she walked away from him toward the door.

John wrestled with his thoughts as he watched her walk toward the door.

"_One last thing_," Kara said as she turned around to face John. _"You have no old friends. You see them, you don't know them. We're walking in the dark here. Understand? You need to know this is right. I'll tell you one last time before it gets complicated. This is right. The threat is real. Your country needs you_."

John didn't respond.

"_I think I got it_," Kara stated then paused. "_You'll be…Reese_."

As John stood there looking at the dead bodies of the two CIA agents, he searched his mind for something to reassure him that she was right and that they had accepted a bribe. Special Forces training taught interrogation then killed only when necessary. How could killing two American citizens, two of their own, without interrogations be necessary? He was always able to get the truth out of his captives. But his new partner had blown them away with no second thought, no assurance. What had he gotten himself into? Who was this Kara Stanton he had been paired with? Could he trust her? Why would she have to kill Miller? What the hell had he done? What could possibly be meant by not getting the job done?

His mind continued to race and he considered how he would remove their teeth and fingertips and then dispose of their bodies. He finally concluded that in order to survive, he had to trust the woman with whom the CIA had paired him. So he moved forward to begin doing what she had instructed.

Reese, he thought, was a fine name. He could live with that. As he opened the back door carrying the first dead agent over his shoulder like a sack of flour, he saw Kara standing outside the door with a black bag in one hand and a Champagne flute in the other.

"A gift," she said as she thrust the bag at him.

"Thanks," John hesitantly answered as he reached forward and took the bag.

"Lighten up...if you want to get through this probationary period. Got it?" Kara added as she reached forward with the keys to the car parked beside her.

"Got it," John answered as he took the bag and keys from her. The bag clanked when it moved, so he realized that she was at least not expecting him to yank out their teeth with his bare hands. Loading the first dead agent in the trunk of Kara's car, John saw her continue to stand there and stare at him as he went back and got the second agent and threw him on top of the first dead agent already in the trunk.

"Be back soon…but not too soon," she stated. "They need to be erased…certainly don't want their bones popping up next year, so you better employ proper disposal techniques."

"Got it," John repeated as he got in the car and started the ignition. He looked at her for a moment as he put the gear in drive and headed onto the street.

Kara returned his look, offering a wide smile across her face.

John didn't know where he was going, but he decided he would figure it out as we went. He saw Kara in his rear-view mirror continuing to stare at him as he drove down the road. He wondered what could possibly be going through her mind. As for him, he was perplexed. He didn't know for sure if what he was doing was right, and he tried to never make any move he wasn't sure of. But his gut told him to do as Kara had instructed. He knew for certain that if he was going to survive, he had to trust her. He felt uneasy but knew he needed to dispose of the operatives that Kara believed were traitors to the United States.

John's brain then flashed on his commanding officer five years ago. The commander's hollow, caged-animal facial expression finally made sense to him. He then shook his head several times, continuing to drive in the dusk away from Kara Stanton.


	5. And Make Them Worthy

Chapter Five: And Make Them Worthy

October 2006

John drove out of Budapest and headed east toward Csóványos where he knew he could find a desolate mountainous area where he could make the agents' dead bodies disappear. It had been a damn long day, and it felt surreal to him at that moment that he was actually heading to the mountains to dispose of the bodies of two CIA agents who were American citizens. Anonymous source, he questioned. Who the hell could that be? Would he someday be fingerless and toothless in the ground in a foreign country with no marker? Would this same Anonymous Source someday target him for death? This was not real, he thought.

In a little over an hour, he pulled over to the side of the unpaved road on which he had been driving. It had gotten significantly darker, and the air was cool and blew down his back as he lifted the first agent out of the trunk. Positioning him on the ground, John walked around to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. Taking off his bow tie, tuxedo jacket, and vest and throwing them down onto the passenger seat of the car, he reached down and retrieved the black bag Kara had given him. He then dumped the bag's contents onto the seat and located a pair of pliers.

"Sorry buddy," he said as he forced opened the agent's mouth to begin pulling out his teeth. That was a lot harder than he had thought, and he struggled with many of the teeth to pry them loose. He eventually got them all out and pushed the agent over so he could get the second agent from the trunk onto the ground. It took him a while to get out the second agent's teeth as well. Even though the air was chilly, sweat poured off his face. He felt wearied as he went back to the seat where the other tools were spread out. He retrieved the pruning shears and walked back over to the bloody, toothless agents still sprawled out on the ground behind the car.

John paused a few moments then began snipping off all of their fingertips. He picked up all the teeth and fingertips and placed them inside the black bag and threw it back into the car's front floor. Going back to the agents, he decided to place them back into the trunk in case someone were to come upon him. It would be hard enough to explain digging a hole—much less what he was doing digging a hole with two dead bodies sprawled out near his car.

He then picked up the e-tool and walked toward a clump of trees in the distance. John began digging, and it brought back memories of his days in the Army digging entrenchment holes. That was damn hard work— but honest and understandable. This right now didn't make complete sense to him, but he kept digging anyway.

Hours into it, John could see the moon would soon be giving in to the sun. He knew he needed to hurry in case some hiker might happen to want an early start. His exhausted arms began shoveling faster.

Eventually, the trench looked to be deep enough, so he went over and retrieved each of the agents and lobbed them down into the earth. He then paused a moment and stood there looking at the hunched up men down in the hole. He closed his eyes, and several moments later spoke aloud, "…to all men who have lived by faith and passed on their road to Thee, by a thousand ways, and in all conditions, and make them worthy of the heavenly kingdom." He opened his eyes and began shoveling the dirt on top of them until they were completely covered over. He packed the soil tightly on top of them then hurled the remaining soil all around.

John then sat down by their makeshift grave and leaned back against the tree. He wanted to sleep, to be somewhere—anywhere—else. His pants and shirt were sweaty and soiled, and his hands were caked with mud encrusted by the blood of the agents. He stared at his hands. They didn't look like his own hands anymore. He continued leaning back and closed his eyes for a few moments. As the area began getting lighter, he decided he needed to head out of there. Taking a little time to get brush and thicket and scatter it around the gravesite, John was satisfied that it wouldn't raise the attention of anyone who happened to come upon the area in the near future.

Getting back in the car, he remembered the fingertips and teeth and thought he better dispose of them in case he got pulled over. He carefully laid out the teeth and hammered each of them into many pieces and threw them a great distance in multiple directions throughout the mountain. He then siphoned gasoline out of the car and threw it on the pile of fingertips. Lighting matches and throwing them on the small pieces of flesh and bone, John watched as they burned to a dark grey ash. He scooped up a little earth then buried the ash into the soil. He was satisfied that the agents were properly disposed of, a phrase that made him feel uneasy.

He then got into the car and leaned his head forward onto the steering wheel and closed his eyes. He needed some sleep. He allowed his mind to drift off.

John fell into a sleep deep enough to dream again about the fog that had earlier devoured him. This time it hissed and then chocked him around his neck, laughing aloud as he struggled for air. It forced his aching arms behind his back and laughed again as it struck him in his back. He then awoke, coughing and continuing to struggle for air. Something heavy and hard was pushing against his back, forcing him into the ground. He then realized that he had awakened and it wasn't a dream.

Something was drawn tightly around his neck, and all he could see was something black over his head. The early morning sun's rays shone through the black sheen of whatever was over his head. He couldn't move, realizing that his hands had been cuffed together. He could hear jeers and feel jabs to his legs and sides as he continued to be restrained by what felt like a large boot in his back. He stopped resisting and lay still.

After a few minutes, he felt arms grabbing him up and pulling him to his feet. He could feel the presence of several people, but he didn't understand what was happening to him. He then felt hands pushing him into what felt like a car's trunk. No one spoke, and he couldn't deduce what was happening to him and who these people were.

He then heard the trunk slam and the car's engine start up. Twisting inside the hand cuffs, John was fairly certain he could eventually free himself of the cuffs. He could hear the muffled sounds of men's voices from his position in the trunk. They had American accents. He feared it was the CIA and that they had already decided to take their gloves off with him.

Several potholes propelled him upwards in the trunk, slamming his hooded head against the top of the trunk. He could hear laughs from the car as they apparently realized what was happening to him in the trunk. Feeling a head wound on his left eyebrow and blood running down his face, he could taste the blood's coppery thickness as it ran across his lips. Continuing to work to free himself of the cuffs, he was jolted in the truck several more times, propelling upwards and slamming parts of his body into the trunk each time. He could hear the men continue to laugh at what he thought they envisioned was happening to their prisoner in the trunk of their car. The car sped up again; then everything went black for him as he passed out from slamming his head again into the trunk of the car. As he headed into the darkness in his mind while slipping into unconsciousness, he could hear the men's loud howls of laughter.

The next thing John became aware of was awaking to water dripping down his face. He couldn't figure out what time of day it was, but he recognized the room as the same one he and Kara had been in earlier.

"Evans, he's awake," the smaller man with dark eyes and a receding hairline said as he stood directly in front of John still holding the empty glass that had held the water he had just thrown onto John.

John saw the man called Evans stand up and come toward him. He was black and wore Burberry eyeglasses. "What's your name?" he asked as he kicked John in his shins.

John remained perfectly still, concentrating on maintaining his calm. He knew these men were Americans, but he wasn't quite sure if they were CIA or not. He then saw the black hood on the floor near his feet. He recognized that hood as belonging to the CIA, which answered his question as to who these men were.

John's non-reaction to him seemed to have infuriated Evans as he punched John in the gut. "Not going to talk to us?" he asked as he then struck John across the face.

The smaller man stepped forward. "Take a breather. We need him alive a little longer. Okay?" he asked as he moved closer into John's face. "So, you're not talking to us?"

John continued to stare ahead toward the floor where he remembered seeing the fallen agents lie after Kara had shot them.

"So tell us this, then. What could you possibly have been doing up in that mountain top digging in the dirt like that?" the shorter man asked.

Still nothing from John. He barely breathed so he could remain motionless.

Evans moved forward again. He pulled out his gun from the back of his waistband and held it to John's temple in the gnash that the car's trunk had made. "If you know what's good for you, then you'll start talking."

John didn't even blink as the barrel of the gun was shoved into his head wound.

The smaller man came forward again and took two pictures out of an envelope. "Do you know these men?" he asked as he held the two pictures in front of John's face.

John recognized them as the two agents he had just buried.

"We received information that you were the last person with them." The smaller man then pulled up a chair and sat facing John.

John continued to remain silent and still.

"Didn't you hear him ask you a question?" Evans bellowed down into John's face, spewing saliva on him as he yelled.

John turned his head and looked up at Evans. "My hearing is fine. That was a statement, not a question," he calmly answered.

Evans then took the butt of the gun and held it up to strike John at the back of his head, but the smaller man grabbed it from him.

"We need him alive for right now, remember?" he asked Evans.

"Then you're on your own, Snow," Evans said through gritted teeth.

"Is this a good-cop bad-cop routine?" John sarcastically asked.

"You're not helping yourself," Snow said calmly.

"Not trying to," John responded.

"Let's try this," Snow said as he pulled out another photograph from the envelope. "Do you know this woman?"

John looked at Kara Stanton's photo, remaining quiet.

"She's responsible for the murder of six CIA agents and numerous innocent people around the world," Snow said, leaning down into John's face directly beside the photo.

John continued staring at the photo a few moments longer then turned to Snow. He called up his CIA training during the past few years that stressed that an agent needed to trust his partner above all else. He was confused but decided the best thing to do was to remain quiet.

"So let me repeat. Do you know this woman?" Snow got closer into John's face.

John's instinct took over, and he head-butted Snow, landing the impact squarely across Snow's forehead.

Snow was caught off-guard and fell backwards onto the floor.

John could hear the tussle in the background as Evans rushed forward to him. "Do you know what you've just done?" he screamed at John. "This man is your Case Officer! You're in serious trouble!"

Snow got himself up off the floor and stood again in front of John. A red mark was already forming on his forehead. "So you're a tough guy, eh?" he calmly asked. "We're trying to help you, but if you don't want our help, then we can let the chips fall as they may."

John sat silently. He was confused but knew that he had been sent by the CIA to meet with Kara and question the two agents. He hadn't been told of a Case Officer named Snow or his partner named Evans. When in doubt, say nothing…and that was the stance he chose to take.

Snow and Evans walked back to the table. Evans picked up the envelope and withdrew several more pictures. Walking toward John, he held them like a prized poker hand. Snow then pulled the table in front of John. Evans began laying out one by one each of the photos.

John continued staring ahead.

Snow then grabbed John's head and forced his face onto the pictures. Pulling his head back a little ways, Snow calmly stated, "These are the wives and children of the two missing agents. They were good agents, good men. They had families for God's sake!"

John looked at each of the pictures of the smiling women and children of a range of ages.

"We have reason to believe that it was Stanton who took a bribe and let Alim Nazir out of the country," Snow said as he stacked up the photos one by one onto a pile on the table. He left the photo of the littlest girl on top. Pointing to her picture, Snow said, "Little Bridget will be without a father now because your partner is greedy…is compromised. Are you sure you want to trust her?"

John wasn't sure about trusting her. As a matter of fact, he wasn't sure of very much at that moment. But he held fast, believing that it was always best to remain quiet when questioned. If captured then you would most likely be killed anyway, so keep quiet and go out with honor. He felt conflicted, though, because he didn't think these rules applied to being questioned by your own.

"We're wasting our time!" Evans shouted. "We know he had to have been burying them up there, so let's just go get their bodies and take care of our little problem here." He held his gun again against John's temple inside the gnash.

It stung but John remained calm and still, not even moving his eyes. He hadn't ever thought that his literal first day in the CIA would be his last. He didn't want to die but would if he had to.

"You're right," Snow said as he turned around again toward John and held out Kara's photo in front of his face. "We'll give you one last opportunity to save yourself and put a serial killer behind bars."

John continued to remain quiet.

"It's beyond me why you'd die to save some mental case," Snow said quietly, squinting at John.

"What did she ever do for you except make you single-handedly remove their teeth and finger tips and dig an eight foot hole?" Snow asked.

John was alarmed that they knew that piece of information. Nothing felt right. He was exhausted and confused but knew his best course of action was to remain quiet and go out with honor. No one would know that he ceased to exist. He had no one. He, too, would end up toothless and without fingertips in some hole. If his remains were ever to be found, no one would even know his true name.

"Okay," Snow said. So this is how you want to play? You've left us no other choice. Evans?" he said as he turned around to look at his partner who had gone behind the table to put the silencer on the end of his gun's barrel.

John struggled in the handcuffs. At least he could go out fighting, he thought. He tried to stand in the chair, but his feet were also bound to the chair's legs.

Evans then came around to John's side and placed the gun back into the gnash.

"One last time," Snow said, "Do you want to tell us what happened to the two agents?"

John stared ahead at the wall. He envisioned his time spent with Jessica, wanting his last thoughts to be happy ones.

"Okay, you've left us no other choice," Snow warned.

Evans then fired his gun.

John heard the click. Had the gun misfired? What the hell just happened? John's heart and mind raced. He was aware of still breathing, still being alive.

"What happened boys?" John heard as he saw Kara come through the door. "Having a little trouble with your gun, Tyrell?

"Kara," Snow said.

"Mark," Kara answered.

After a short pause, Snow said, "He may be one of the best we've had in a long time."

John was uncertain what the hell was happening.

"He even dug a hole at least seven or eight feet deep. Nothing shallow about this Tier One boy," Snow laughed.

Kara came forward and got down into John's face and quietly said, "Welcome to the CIA. Now have a drink with us and then get the hell out of here to go get some sleep." She gauged John's stoic facial expression then added, "Meet me back here in several hours."

John continued to stare at her, offering no response to the turn of events.

"I'll make a partner out of you yet, John Reese," she stated flippantly. She then leaned down and kissed him for several minutes on his lips.

John made no movement, not returning her comments or kiss.

Kara leaned upwards and looked at him smiling broadly. "You'll get the hang of how all this works, my love," she said as she turned and walked toward the table.

Evans then came forward and released John's hands and legs and tossed the cuffs and ropes on the table beside the bottle of Plum Brandy Kara had brought in with her.

Kara then handed John the small glass and motioned it upwards, "To Reese."

John drank the brandy in one gulp, still saying nothing. Slamming down the glass on the table, he walked to the door to head to his hotel room to get cleaned up and to get some much needed sleep. He needed time to process what was happening to him.

"Reese," Kara called before John had fully exited. "Good work."

John gave her a split-second smile then escaped the room. He could hear them pouring more drinks as he left.


	6. In No Time

Chapter 6: In No Time

"Oh my God," Joss said. She could feel her own heart racing. "I've always heard that the CIA is manipulative, but those agents crossed the line."

"I came to realize that there really is no line," John answered. "So I went back for more. I met Kara that evening and acted as if nothing had transpired. I learned to block it out. I became that killing machine."

"But how did you learn to trust them?"

"I guess I did…and then I really didn't…fully. I was always waiting for…" John paused several moments, "…for the gloves to come off…for me. And they eventually did. "

Joss looked down at her hands. She could feel them tensing into fists.

"I went back that evening, and they offered me a job shortly thereafter," John stated. He then continued, "Guess they were satisfied that my provisional time was completed." He could tell that, to any normally thinking human being, what he was saying couldn't possibly make sense. He couldn't explain it, not really. But he knew he had made that choice to be there voluntarily…to serve his country in a that capacity…so in his mind, he had to go back.

"I understand allegiance…and I certainly understand commitment, but wow…didn't your gut tell you to head for the hills?" Joss exclaimed.

John raised his eyebrows and repeated in a laughing tone, "Head for the hills."

Neither said anything for several moments.

Joss could see John shivering almost uncontrollably. The air pushing its way toward them was freezing, which added to the cold water spewing throughout the burst pipes. "Let me go see if I can get a thermal blanket," she offered.

John didn't answer but looked up and caught her eyes. His silence affirmed that he would accept the blanket.

A few minutes later she crawled back over to him carrying the blanket wrapped in a plastic carrying case. "They'll be here soon," she assured. "You still okay?" Joss took the thermal blanket out of its case and unfolded it, putting it around him.

"Still with you, Joss," he answered. "It was my job," he whispered loudly up at her.

"I get it," Joss affirmed as she pulled a bandage she had retrieved from her jacket pocket. "Be still so I can put this on your head wound," she said.

John lay still and quiet. Their silence felt awkward.

Joss wanted to say something to affirm to him that she wasn't judging him…that truly she did understand. "Hey," she finally said. "You still awake?"

John opened his eyes and smiled up at her. The thermal blanket helped keep the frigid air coming from the collapsed side wall from gushing in on him. He was beginning to feel a little warmer.

"Just checking," Joss added.

After a few minutes, John began again. "Pretty soon after they officially offered me a job and Kara and I were officially partners, we headed to Prague. By that time—within five months—I knew what was going down. I knew I was going there to kill. I understood the job. It still tore me up inside, but…"

"I get why you did it, John, I really do. That's what we soldiers do," Joss interjected.

John shook his head then continued, "It was three of them. I knew…"

"What?" Joss asked.

"He was selling drone blueprints from _Wright_-_Patterson_ Air Force Base to the Chinese Nationals. The Chinese could have made their own drones in less than six months. It was serious…."

Joss saw John's eyes go somewhere far off. She decided not to push him, letting him tell whatever he was comfortable saying at this point.

John could feel his eyes getting incredibly heavy. He was no longer able to keep them open. As everything began getting black, he could hear Joss, who seemed to be miles away even though he could still feel her hand on his, scream out, "Chief, I need you guys over here now!"

John's mind took him to a closed wooden hotel door. He was there again, living those moments with Kara in Prague all over again.

"Chief!" Joss yelled again.

Then John heard nothing else from the Federal Reserve Bank. He was completely back in Prague.

Pausing outside of the door, John felt conflicted. He knew behind the door was the software engineer from Wright-Patterson who was meeting with the two Asian spies. He could feel a pain in the center of his gut.

"Remember we're in love," Kara warned John with her usual intense, smirky facial expression and sardonic tone of voice.

"Got it," John answered as he made sure his Glock was in the back of his waistband. He withdrew the keys to the room, grabbed Kara by her shoulders into an affectionate hug, plastered a broad smile on his face, and pushed through the hotel door.

As they entered the room and caught sight of the engineer and the Chinese Nationals, John laughed, _"I'm sorry. They must have given us the wrong key_." He held up the hotel key to show them. The next moment he reached behind and grabbed his gun and fired on the two Chinese men. They both fell to the floor.

Kara stepped forward and said to the American traitor who stood before her, "_Do you know the penalty for treason_? With no hesitation, she shot him dead. He fell immediately to the floor.

Pleased with herself, she smiled and stated, "_Hum_." She then walked to the bed, closed the aluminum case full of money, and picked it up as she said, _"The look on their faces. I should have brought my camera_."

John was busy looking under the white cloth draped over the Maitre de's cart to find cleaning solution. _"Can we just do this and go_?" he asked with agitation in his voice.

Kara walked toward John. _"Okay John. If we're going to be partners, then you're going to have to lighten up_."

"_It's my first triple homicide. Didn't know I was to prepare jokes_," John responded in a sarcastic, flat tone.

Kara became irritated. She had put a great deal of effort into him over the past few months to kill the Boy Scout and bring out the monster in him. _"These aren't murder victims. These are enemy combatants. But yes, we are killers, John. It's our job. And if you want to be good at your job, then you're going to have to love your work_."

The truth was, John didn't love his work, and he felt no sense of honor killing people in cold blood. Killing while serving the CIA felt different than killing the enemy at war. Killing people without assurances of their guilt was just, plain and simply, wrong to him. He wasn't comfortable—and nor could he love—being the judge, the jury, and the executioner.

John's mind flashed away from Prague and back to Joss. He could hear once again what was happening around him. There were now people around him lifting the heaviness off his legs. He could feel the pressure lessening in his rib cage and his body being turned so that he lay flat. He could feel his legs being braced and hands on his neck keeping him steady. He could feel a slight jolt upwards and onto something hard. His ribs burned with pain, and his head felt heavy. His legs, surprisingly, weren't hurting as much as they had been. He could hear Joss close by holding a one-way conversation so he presumed she was talking on her cellphone. It had to be Finch. Finch always worried.

John's eyes were too heavy to open, even when he felt the strap go across his forehead. The air was cold, and his clothing was heavy from being saturated by the runoff water. Then he felt joggling movement.

"Wait," he could hear Joss yelling from the distance.

The movement stopped.

"Mr. Warren, I'll meet you at the hospital," he could hear Joss say as he felt her touch the top of his hand that lay restricted by his side.

John wanted to respond, wanted to tell her that he understood that he was supposed to use his John Warren alias per Harold's orders. But nothing would emit from his lips, and his eyes remained sealed closed. He tried to nod, but his head was strapped down. He then began to force open his eyes.

Joss saw that he was trying to respond. "It's okay, John," she said, then the movement resumed. He then smelled the pungent smell of diesel from the ambulance. The jostling continued as he surmised they were loading him into the back of the running ambulance. The cold and blackness overtook him, and he gave into his unconsciousness.

Joss stood on the street and watched as they put John in the ambulance. She saw the EMT look around. They then caught eyes with one another. He seemed too young to be an EMT.

"You wanna come, officer?" the EMT yelled toward Joss.

"Yes!" Joss yelled back. She ran toward the ambulance and jumped into the back, sitting at John's side again. She hated seeing him this way. He had rarely been in any situation that he couldn't get himself out of. The past two years with him flashed through her mind: the bum on the subway, the man she hunted, the man who saved her and Taylor, the man who helped people, the man who became her friend. Her thoughts were then interrupted by the EMT.

"His vitals look good even though his body temperature is below normal. Your friend?"

"Yes," Joss answered immediately. "He's my friend…my very good friend."

"We'll be at the hospital in no time. They'll get your friend back up on his feet…in no time," the EMT said as he mustered up his most sympathetic tone of voice they had been trained to use with victims. He realized he was repeating himself but couldn't find another phrase to use.

Joss smiled at him, understanding that he was trying to be helpful. She watched as he struggled to roll up the sleeves of John's wet overcoat. With each roll, water was released and puddled by John's side before being absorbed back into his coat.

The ambulance continued to barrel on, creaking and swaying as it sped toward 10th Avenue.

The EMT eventually got John's sleeve rolled up past his elbow. "Officer, can you help me?" he asked.

Joss looked up at him with a sympathetic smile. She remembered how awkward she felt when she first brought Taylor home from the hospital. She, at first, touched her new baby tentatively as if he would break. The EMT looked the same way. "Sure," she answered.

"Can you turn his arm and hold it so I can find a good vein to insert this?" he asked as he held up the saline bag and needle.

Joss touched John's arm. He still seemed so cold.

"He'll warm up…" the EMT began to say.

"In no time," Joss finished as she smiled at him briefly then looked back down at John.

The EMT laughed at himself as he patted the veins on John's arm. In a moment he inserted the needle and hung up the saline bag on a hook connected to the ambulance.

John looked so peaceful lying there. It was hard to fathom that this man was full of demons from his past. He looked like any normal run-of-the-mill New Yorker who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Looking at him sleeping peacefully, Joss herself could not imagine how he managed to fight with his demons and hold them at bay. He was truly a remarkable man, and she loved him for that. She knew she had become a better cop…and a better person…because of him. She allowed a few tears to escape as she brushed his cheekbone with the outside of her hand. She needed the balance restored in her life by having him back to the John she had come to rely on and love.

As she stroked his cheek, she saw his eyes flutter open.

He smiled at her first.

Quickly wiping the tears that had run down her face, she returned his smile.

"You worried about me, Carter?" John whispered in his usual dry-witted tone.

Joss returned his comment with another smile then answered, "Always." She paused a moment then added, "But I know you're tough."

He smiled again at her then closed his eyes, still conscious of being in the back of the ambulance with her at his side.

As the EMT had projected, they arrived at Roosevelt Hospital in no time. Joss was queasy was riding sideways even though the ride was less than ten minutes. John maintained his usual stoic facial expression.

Also in no time, Orderlies wheeled him through the Emergency Room doors, one holding up a hand to motion for Joss to stay in the Waiting Room. She then dialed Finch to tell him where they were and to hold tight until she knew what the situation was. Of course Finch countered with the need to be there, stating that he was on his way.

Joss didn't argue. She knew the devotion toward one another that the two men had.

A little later a doctor came out, glancing around the Waiting Room. "Family of John Warren?" he called.

Joss and Finch stood up. "We're the closest he has to family," Finch said.

The doctor gave them a disapproving and questioning look.

"We're very good friends," Joss added, feeling uncomfortable.

"Does he have any legal kin?" the doctor asked.

"No," Joss agitatedly answered.

"Let me consult with him and get his permission for me to talk to you, sir… and …Officer…Carter," the doctor said, looking from Harold to Joss, searching her uniform for a name plate.

"Okay, doctor," Finch answered as he stood before the doctor with a panicked expression on his face.

"I'll be right back," the doctor added, noting Finch's facial expression.

Joss sat back down and picked up the People Magazine she had been thumbing through. "How stupid!" she muttered to herself. "Jennifer Aniston's getting married again!" She realized that she was really angry at the situation for not immediately being told of John's condition—even though her rational mind completely agreed with HIPAA rules.

Finch turned around to see what she was talking about, realizing that she was not talking to him but to the magazine she held in her clutches. He then sat back down beside her.

"Can I do something for you, Detective Carter?" Finch asked.

"No, I'm okay," Joss answered. "Just tired. It's been a long day and my nerves are on edge."

"I understand," Finch responded.

A few minutes later the doctor returned and quickly sat down beside them. "Sorry about that. We just have to be very careful these days," he offered.

"We understand, Doctor. How's our friend?" Finch asked.

"He'll be just fine in no time," the doctor answered.

Joss, not able to help herself, let out a little laugh.

Both the doctor and Finch turned toward her with confused expressions.

"Inside joke," Joss stated. "Sorry, please continue, doctor," she added, forcing her smile to give way to a more serious expression.

"We'll keep him overnight. But he should be able to go home tomorrow or the next day. But he'll need plenty of rest and time to recuperate," the doctor said shaking his head up and down. The doctor then reached up on his head and put his reading glasses on, glancing at the folder he had brought with him.

Finch got ready to speak, but the doctor then added, "Says here he's a ... banker?"

"Yes," Finch hesitantly answered as Joss turned to look at him.

"That's good…he'll need low impact work for a while so his wounds, ribs, and leg can mend. He's lucky that the break in his leg isn't any worse than it is…and he has several hairline fractures on his ribs. He has several places where we removed shrapnel, but all in all, he's one lucky man. Many others weren't as fortunate."

Joss knew that it wasn't luck but skill that always prevented John Reese from becoming more injured or killed. She also knew that it was she this time who pulled him out of harm's way and that he had repaid her by enveloping her with his body to protect her from the fallout of the blast. They were becoming partners in the truest sense of the word. That realization made her smile.

"Thank you, doctor," Finch stated.

"You can go back now to see him if you'd like," the doctor said as he got up from the chair and headed back toward the Emergency Room.

"Harold, you go ahead and see him. Tell him I'll be back later. I just need to go home for a little while," Joss said.

Finch understood what had to have been going through in her mind. "Okay, Joss," he answered.

Joss got outside and hailed a cab, asking the cabbie to take her home. As she sat in the backseat of the cab, she thought about the events of her day. Her mind kept coming back to John. Several minutes into her cab ride, she jumped slightly as her cell phone bolted out a loud shrill. She smiled when she saw it was from John.

"Carter," she heard John say from his end of the phone call. "Yes?" she asked.

"Thank you for looking out for me," John softly said.

"You're welcome," Joss answered.

There was a pause between them as neither knew what to say next.

"Listen," Joss stated.

"Yes?" John asked.

"I'll be back there…" Joss started to say.

"In no time," John finished.

"Yes…in no time," Joss said, tears streaming down her face.

"Okay," John said.

"We'll finish our conversation when I return, okay, John?"

"Okay, Joss. We'll talk some more," John answered as he clicked off his phone.

Joss continued heading toward her apartment, holding back her emotions of the day to be released in privacy behind the closed doors of her bedroom.

After setting his cellphone on the side table near his bed, John then returned his attention back to Finch.

Finch's facial expression had mellowed a little, but his usual appearance was typical of a man who had the weight of the world on his shoulders. "I just don't understand what's happening to the Machine," Finch uttered. "We're just not given adequate notice any longer." Finch narrowed his eyes at John as he wrung his fingers.

John recognized Finch's fretfulness. "We'll figure it out, Harold," John reassured.

"Okay, Mr. Reese. Yes, we'll figure it out. But first things first. We need to get you back up on your feet—literally."

"I'll be okay…been through a lot worse than this," John answered.

"Yes, I know you have," Finch answered. And he did. Harold Finch knew absolutely everything about this man who preferred to go by the John Reese alias his former CIA partner had given him. He didn't understand why, but he figured that John reasoned wearing that name was some sort of retribution for what he considered to be the wrong-doings of his past.

Finch continued to sit in the quiet of the hospital room as John lay silent and still. He watched as John would go back and forth from sleep to wakefulness. The IV drip had pain medication and sedatives to force him to rest in order to regain his strength faster.

After a while, Finch rose to his feet and paused at the door to take one last look at his friend. "Sleep well, my friend…for tomorrow is another day."


	7. Checkmate

Hello Readers, Thanks so much to all of you who have been staying with this story. This is an eight chapter story, so it will be wrapped up tomorrow. Please take note that there is a scene in this chapter that may be offensive to some. I have tried to be respectful with my language, but it still might not appeal to all readers. Again, thank you all for following along and for letting me know that you are enjoying this story. We're almost there!

Chapter 7: Checkmate

Later that night, Joss went back to Liberty Street to obtain her car that she had left there that morning. The building was taped off and was being guarded heavily. It felt good to have her car back, she thought. She then headed to the hospital.

As she arrived at the hospital, she made her way to John's room. She took a deep breath as she pulled open the door. John was still connected to an IV. He looked different to her, not as large or indestructible. His hair, which was usually slicked down and parted to the right, lay across his forehead. She pulled up a chair beside his bed and sat there quietly. The room was unusually quiet, just the rhythmic swooshing of his IV pump. A nurse came in and smiled at her as she saw Joss sitting there.

"He's doing just fine," she whispered as she put down her two fingers at his wrist to take his pulse. She then took his temperature by inserting the gadget into his ear. John stirred slightly as he apparently felt the gadget inside his ear. Typing his information into the computer screen, the nurse then turned back to the IV bag to check it.

Joss watched her as she checked John's bandages.

"Would you like a cup of coffee while you wait?" the nurse asked.

"That would be lovely," Joss answered. She sat there reading, but not really reading, the newspaper. She hadn't even bothered to see if it was today's paper. Feeling comforted by just being in John's presence, Joss could hear the soft cadence of his breathing.

The nurse brought in a large cup of Starbucks coffee and reached in her pocket to hand Joss some creamer and packets of sugar.

"Thank you," Joss said.

"My pleasure," the nurse answered.

Time passed. How much, Joss didn't know. She didn't think about looking at her watch or even keeping up with the time. Everything felt surreal like time was fluid yet motionless. She then finished looking through the newspaper and laid it on the side table. Looking down at John, she noticed he was awake.

John smiled at her as he saw her realize that he was awake.

They both then nodded at each other.

A few minutes later, John said, "Joss."

"Yes?" she answered.

"Do you remember that boy Darren…Darren McGrady?"

"The one Fusco got shot in the ass over?" Carter laughed.

"Yeah, that's the one," John responded, smiling broadly. He, too, found that situation humorous.

"Why are you thinking about him?" Joss asked.

"He said something to me…that kid…he nailed it. He knew me better than I even knew myself."

Joss furrowed her brow. "What?"

"He said I was like a Ronin…that my master had tricked me, had told me to kill bad people who weren't really bad."

Joss sat quietly. She then asked, "Is that what they did…what you did?"

John narrowed his eyes then inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly. "Yes," he answered quietly. He paused for several moments, collecting his thoughts. "I had told Darren that the higher up you go, the harder it is to tell the good guys from the bad."

Joss bit her bottom lip and remained quiet.

"I just couldn't tell…not for sure," he quietly said in a flat tone, his eyes searching in the distance for something…anything…that could help him understand and explain to her the path he had taken and the ineffable deeds he had consequently performed.

Joss saw his eyes peering into the wall ahead, but she knew he wasn't really looking at anything in particular.

His mind then reached back to 2009.

The two partners, Stanton and Reese, had been together three years now. He had become John Reese, but he continued to struggle with killing upon command. He desperately wanted to believe in what he had been called upon by his country to do, but the gnawing in his gut had yet to subside.

Together they were in Paris on their current mission, sitting at a bar.

John looked over in the corner of the bar at a couple that was enjoying themselves.

Kara ordered drinks, showing John how adept she was speaking French. John wasn't as impressed as she probably thought he was.

"_What did they do_?" John asked.

"_Who cares? Orders are orders." _Kara abruptly answered.

"_Just making sure we have the right target. They just look like they are two people in love," _John defended.

"_Maybe they are…or maybe they're just better at playing their cover than you. Would it kill you to kiss a girl every once in a while?" _ Kara asked, dissatisfied with John's inability—even after three years— to be what she needed for him to be.

John continued to sit on the barstool, frustrated for still not living up to his partner's expectations. No matter what he did or what he said, he believed that he was never quite good enough for Kara Stanton. She always seemed to see through him and know that he couldn't completely be the killing machine she wanted him to be.

Throughout the past three years, though, he had been training his brain to categorize and compartmentalize. He created an air-tight space in his brain to file these horrific killings he had agreed to do when accepting the job with the CIA. As the body count increased, though, he feared the rational and humanistic part of his mind would wither and die, eventually giving birth to a monster…a monster much like Kara Stanton.

After the remaining customers left the bar, Kara stood and said, _"Alone at last. Time to get to work."_

Robotically, Reese joined Stanton in opening fire on their targets, pelting their bodies with numerous bullets. Looking at their bloody torsos, John felt ashamed to have taken their lives in such a brutal way. As their bodies lay sprawled out partly on the floor and partly draped over the mangled wooden chairs in which they had been sitting, John struggled to convince himself that these two agents had been compromised.

What evidence did they have? It was always a "reliable source." Who could be so reliable as to know all of these things? Their missions were almost non-stop and the body count was immense. Who the hell could possibly have that depth of knowledge?

"John!" Kara yelled, snapping him back to the moment. "We need to get to their apartment and erase them! Come on! You're wasting time! Do you want to get caught?" she asked, stressing the word "want."

John followed her out the back door of the bar and into the streets where they blended into the crowd. People were beginning to form at the front of the bar where they heard chanted over and over, "Des coups de feu! Des coups de feu!"

They casually walked.

"We need to blend in better," Kara stated, revealing her annoyance with him as she grabbed John's hand and pulled him beside her so they would look like a couple in love. "Smile… and at least pretend that you love me!" she ordered through gritted teeth and a forced smile.

John programmed himself to hold her hand and smile. He continued in this manner until reaching the apartment of the compromised agents whom they had just gunned-down in cold blood. As soon as they entered the building, John let loose of Kara's hand.

With John, Kara Stanton was a regnant vampire slowly draining the life force from her thrall. She had realized from the beginning of their partnership that she needed to take things slowly with him, but never did she think that it would take this long. She now knew how John operated, what made him tick, what weakened and strengthened him. She admired him for his strength and talent, but she just couldn't help but feel aggravated by his inability to completely conform. Early on in their partnership, Stanton had contemplated having him assigned to someone else, but she just couldn't resist the challenge. The challenge of transforming the rigid Tier One boys into killers was her strong suit, one that the CIA recognized. The CIA had always given her some of the best new agents to mold, but so far she had met her match with John Reese. So three years into their partnership, she had yet to have been able to completely impose her will on him, had yet to completely turn him. She had made progress, but he just wasn't quite there yet.

Her previous partner, Gerard Miller, was nowhere near as strong as John…and it was actually his weakness that got him "retired" from the CIA. He was a liability waiting to happen, so she simply prevented the inevitable by blowing out his brains one night after they got drunk on Plum Brandy and had ravished one another's bodies. He wasn't even that great of a lover, Kara had reasoned. It was time for him to go.

Truth be known, however, Kara Stanton was attracted to her new partner, was enthralled by him. And that was what angered her. John Reese was a beautiful man with finely chiseled features, and her attraction for him intensified as he continued to reject her. She was an agent, yes, but a woman, too. So that's what created the duplicitous nature of their relationship: she hated and loved, was challenged and frustrated, and was repulsed and attracted to him all at the same time. Never in her entire life had she had this kind of relationship with anyone else. She had eventually discovered what she believed was his breaking point, though, and as if playing a long high-stakes Chess game, she continued to wait for her Checkmate.

As they made it up the stairs to the apartment, John entered first, drawing his gun just in case. They entered the vacant apartment and got to work. Kara began taking photographs and throwing them in the fireplace. John immediately went for the cleaning solution and began wiping down all of the surfaces. They both worked in silence. Kara would occasionally glance around at John as he continued to clean. His facial expression continued to grow darker and more tormented. This was not unusual for him, but nonetheless, it still angered her because he was living proof of her failure.

Kara's phone then began beeping. Wow, hardly a breath between cases, she thought to herself. She wasn't sure if she could stand another case so soon with John, so she turned toward him and stated, _"I just got Intel on our next gig. Seems like you could use some leave." _

John stared at her.

"_You could be a few days late. April in Paris? What do ya say?" _she asked, hoping he would take her up on her offer.

John turned his head away from her momentarily then responded, _"I'm fine."_ His expression was dark and his voice was flat.

At that moment, Kara could no longer hold back her emotions. Flattening her hand and chopping at his throat, she landed her blow squarely on his Adam's apple. She then seized that moment of his vulnerability to thrust him against the wall. _"Time to decide,"_ she ordered.

She had reached her breaking point, and in the heat of the moment, she had decided to take John to his.

John's throat hurt and mind raced as if he were on a roller coaster at an amusement park.

Kara could see that she had caused him physical pain.

John winced and breathed in heavily.

Having the physical upper-hand and seeing him in a moment of weakness brought sheer enjoyment to Kara. "_Which man do you want to be: the Boy Scout or the killer…cause I'm sick of working with them both!"_ she adamantly stated through her clinched jaw.

John looked at her. He felt hollow and cold.

Kara continued, _"No one made you do this. You chose this life, remember?" But if this isn't you…if you want to be a nice man with a nice job, all you have to do is ask."_

_A nice man with a nice job!_ John angrily mused to himself. That was never going to happen…CIA or not! He had killed too many to count. He had seen and done things in both the Army and CIA that no one, no matter who he was, could ever resume a so-called normal life.

John Reese then broke. His mind exploded into sparks of lightening. He then pulled himself free from Kara's grasp and grabbed her by her throat, forcing her against the wall, holding her up by her neck. He was then completely living inside the lie….becoming the lie.

Everything was happening too quickly for Kara to process.

As the monster emerged, Reese intensified his grip on Kara's throat. He felt nothing any longer as he answered through gritted teeth, _"I love my work."_

Reese had wanted to love his work…so that wasn't a lie.

Love was now an esoteric emotion to him. The machine, the killer, the monster had taken over, programmed to recite the words his partner wanted to hear.

Kara had never seen this John before. Her heart pounded, and a part of her was frightened by the monster who had emerged from the man. She forced herself to control her breathing so as to not seem weak to him. She had never been more attracted to him than she was at that moment.

She knew she had finally broken him.

Grabbing him by the back of his neck and pulling his face into hers, she began passionately kissing him.

Reese responded.

They stood for several moments recklessly and heatedly kissing one another. Kara ran her hands through his hair, making fists and tugging at the hands-full of his close-cropped hair she was able to keep within her grasp. She then allowed him to take lead, and he wildly moved his mouth down to her neck, nipping at her sweaty skin with his lips and teeth.

Reese had wanted to feel passion again...so that wasn't a lie.

Kara was so aroused that she couldn't wait to get back to their hotel. "You need to make love to me now," she demanded.

Love? Reese thought to himself as he pulled away from her momentarily. He found that word from her amusing, but he instinctively and aggressively pushed her to the floor and began pulling off her clothes. He then partially removed his. As programmed, he thrust himself into her.

Kara shrieked in ecstasy. He was just the lover she needed.

Clawing at the back of Reese's neck, Kara left scratch lines and blood rising to the surface. They pounded into one another like wild animals. Sweat poured from their bodies as they continued to consume each other in baseless sex.

While feeling satisfied for finally being able to release her pent-up sexual feelings for John, Kara was actually more gratified by having finally broken him.

Reese, feeling nothing but an animalistic sexual drive, continued to perform as expected, thrusting into her until he could tell she was nearing climax. As she moaned and writhed against him, Reese then released and exploded into her.

Kara sighed with satisfaction as she orgasmed. He was just the monster she needed.


	8. Opportunities Multiply as Seized

Chapter 8: Opportunities Multiply as They are Seized

John paused from telling Joss the events from 2009 in Paris. He had spared her—and himself—from the intimate details even though he was sure it was evident.

Joss reached forward and laid her hand on top of John's.

John opened his hand to accept Joss's gesture of understanding and acceptance.

They stayed that way for quite some time.

Joss could see John's eye lids closing for longer amounts of time than he was able to keep them open. He seemed to labor against their might. "Rest now," Joss whispered as she saw him then relax and surrender to sleep. Joss was tired, too, but she was unable to slow her mind to allow for rest. Deciding to leave in the next few minutes, Joss watched John as he tensely inhaled and exhaled. Was he back in Paris with Stanton, Joss wondered. She hated the CIA, but mostly she hated Kara Stanton for damaging John's life. He was a good man, but she knew that nothing now could ever convince him of such.

As John slept, a menagerie of people from his past flashed in and out of his subconscious state. There was Jessica in Mexico and then on her wedding video with Peter. There was Fusco and Stills. There was Zoe in the suburbs and Leon. There was Kara and Snow and then Shaw. There was Cal and Scymanski. There was Elias. There were the boys on the subway and the skinheads in the garage. There was Joss lying in the alley then sitting by his side in the collapsed Federal Reserve. There was Finch on the bench under the Queensboro Bridge, Finch in the library, then Finch at the train station in the wheelchair with Root. There was Bear sitting on his bed protecting Finch. His mind held on Finch and Joss, recalling that for the first time in his life he had friends, people who truly cared about him despite his past. And he had people he cared about.

There was Darren in his car again. He heard them talking about the Sun Tzu. He saw himself telling Darren that people don't get to choose what happens to them—just what they do about it.

Then there was Scott Powell on the subway. He jumped awake as he felt Joss's hand nudging his shoulder. He remembered Scott so clearly that they could have had that subway conversation just a few moments ago.

"Who is Scott?" Joss asked.

John looked at her with a confused expression. He wasn't sure how she knew he had been dreaming about Scott. "Remember that laid-off construction worker who everyone thought was going to kill Congressman Delancey?"

"Yes, vaguely," Joss answered.

"I remember him as if it were yesterday. It's weird. We were on the subway together," John said then paused. He remembered telling Scott and now repeating to Joss, _"__I know what it's like to live inside a lie. I've lived there for so long it feels there's no way out. But there always is."_

"A lie?" Joss asked. "What…the CIA?"

"Yes, it was all a lie…I lived that lie…. I tried to convince myself that it wasn't a lie, but it was." He stopped abruptly then slightly gasped, "I became the lie."

Joss was slightly confused. "No, John, you did what your country asked of you."

"But it was all a lie. You have to see that, Joss."

Joss narrowed her eyes then looked away from him.

John knew that she knew. "Do you know what it's like to know you have a monster inside you that can resurface at any time?"

"No…" Joss whispered as she slightly shook her head from side to side still looking at the wall.

"Scott was most concerned…not about himself or his own safety…but that he could die and the person he loved most would think he was a killer. He asked me if I knew what that was like."

Joss then turned to look at John. Tears had run down her face. She hated for him to see her this way, but she needed to face him.

"I do know what that feels like, Joss. I do know. But the worst part of it is that it's true. I'm nothing but a cold-blooded killer…a monster if you will."

"God," Joss whispered, shaking her head from side to side. Were there any words at all in the human language that she could use that could convince him otherwise? she wondered. Realizing that there weren't, she squeezed his hand harder so he would know that she loved him and was there for him.

Time sped by in silence between them. Joss continued to sit, and John lay still, staring at the ceiling.

Both were comforted by the other's presence as eventually they both fell to sleep.

Hours later, Joss awakened to someone entering the room. She adjusted her eyes and searched her mind to place who this form was approaching them.

It was Martell Russo.

"Officer?" Martell asked.

"Uh…yes," Joss answered. She continued to stare at Martell. "You're Mrs. Russo."

"Yes," Martell answered. "Is he okay?"

"John?" Joss said as she turned to look at him.

Martell nodded.

"Yes, he's going to be fine. Got a little banged up, but he's tough," Joss answered. She then laid her hand on John's arm, rubbing it up and down. "John?"

John's eyes opened slowly.

"John, you have a visitor," Joss said.

John shifted his eyes away from Joss toward the other side of the room, immediately recognizing his person of interest. He offered her a small smile. "Are you okay?" he asked the young woman clad in a hospital gown standing there before him with several bandages on her face and her arm in a sling.

"I'm alive because of you," she said, bursting into tears. "I don't know how you knew…how you did this, but I could have been killed yesterday. You saved my life." Martell couldn't restrain herself from darting forward to grab John and hold him in an embrace. "You saved me…you saved me!" she sobbed into his chest.

John was never good at that part of his job. His mind raced as he felt Martell's tears against his chest.

"I'll never know how to repay you, but thank you…thank you for being there. God bless you for being there and stepping forward to help me and the others." Martell then rose from his chest and stepped forward to kiss John on his cheek. She then touched the bandage on his forehead and looked at his braced leg. "You're a hero, and God will bless you for your good deeds," Martell said as she backed away and retreated through the door, taking one last look at John before vanishing into the hallway.

Joss smiled at John as she saw several tears run down the side of his face and disappear into his hair. "She's right, John."

"I'm no hero," John answered.

"Yes you are, John. And that's the truth."

John stared at the ceiling, trying to comprehend what she was saying. "I was just doing my job, Joss."

"It's more than that…and you have to know that. You may have been living in that lie, but you're not now. Remember the Sun Tzu, John?" Joss softly asked.

John turned slowly toward her to look at her. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "Yes, opportunities multiply as they are seized."

"Yes, John."

John then shook his head up and down as his brain flashed over and over on the people during the past two years that he and Finch and even Joss had helped. "I'll never be redeemed for what I've done in my past…and I don't know if I can always hold at bay that monster who I had become...and lives within me."

"John, you've been given an opportunity for deliverance from your past. These opportunities are multiplying…just look at yesterday alone. Think about the positive impact from just yesterday."

"Yes," John whispered.

"You will probably never know how the lives you saved…just yesterday…will positively impact the future of this world, John."

John had never thought about it quite that way.

"Please shift your thinking, okay? You gotta start thinking this way if you're ever going to survive your past," Joss stated. "You're no monster, John Reese...just a man who believed in his country and did what they asked of him to do."

They sat in silence for a while.

Joss then saw John looking sleepy again, so she decided it was time for her to get home. She laid her hand on top of his and squeezed it. "I gotta go now," she whispered softly close to his ear.

"Okay," John answered as he opened his eyes to look at her.

"I'll check back with you later, okay?"

John smiled up at her.

She always loved to see him smile, which wasn't often. "Rest now so they'll let you out of here."

"I need to get my bum leg back up operational," John replied.

"Yes, but you need time to heal so you carry on with your mission of helping the people of New York."

"Yes, Doctor," John sarcastically answered.

"And there's the John Reese I know and love," Joss laughed as she broadly smiled at him and headed toward the door. "See ya later, okay?"

"See ya later," John parroted.

A little later John awakened to see Finch sitting in the chair beside his bed that Joss had vacated earlier.

"Oh good, Mr. Reese. I was beginning to worry," Harold said.

"No worries, Harold. I'll be up and about…in no time," John said as he smiled to himself remembering the EMT and Joss in the ambulance.

Finch caught his smile but decided not to ask. There must have been an inside joke between Joss and John, and Harold decided to let them have that to themselves.

"It will take more than that to take me completely out of commission," John said.

"Speaking of which, the doctor said you could go home later today…about mid-afternoon."

"Good," John answered. "When did they take the IV out? The pain meds were great but the sedatives kept knocking me down, making me have all sorts of wild dreams."

"About several hours ago," Finch responded, glancing down at his watch.

John nodded, realizing Finch had been sitting there for the past few hours.

"Mr. Reese?" Finch added. "We need to stop cutting things so close…stop putting you in so much danger."

"I'm okay Harold," John said, using his most convincing voice. The reality was, however, he was in some pain.

"Your body, I'm sure, won't be able to take much more, John."

"What are you saying, Harold? Are you trying to replace me for a younger partner?" John laughed.

"I just don't want to see you get killed," Harold responded.

"You said it from the beginning…I knew what I was getting into. At least this time it's something positive. At least now I doing some good."

Finch understood what he was saying. He knew full well the past John had led. He knew every mission and every killing. He knew that there were occasions that the targets were incorrect and innocent people brutally lost their lives. He knew it all.

"Thanks, Harold. I mean it…thank you for believing in me and giving me this opportunity."

"You're quite welcome, Mr. Reese," Harold answered. "Even though in the end both of us may lose our lives, I do believe that in some small way we're restoring a little balance in this crazy world. Do you know what I mean?" Harold asked.

"I understand, Harold. Opportunities are truly multiplied as they are seized."

"Yes they are, Mr. Reese…yes they are," Harold answered as he shifted his weight in the chair beside the hospital bed.

They were then enveloped in quiet as the two partners waited for the doctor to come back and release John to return home. Finch knew that John would be out of commission for a little while for his leg to mend. He also knew how stubborn and restless John always was when sidelined. "John, there'll be plenty for you to do while you recover," he said reassuringly to his partner.

"I hope so, Harold," John answered. "Cause it looks like we have a lot to do to get that Machine of yours back up on its feet," John responded.

"Yes, I'm afraid you're right, Mr. Reese. The numbers never stop coming, and the Machine is going to need our help."

John wasn't sure what Harold meant but trusted his friend that he did. "I trust you, Harold," John stated.

Harold turned toward John and gave him a split-second smile, hoping John wouldn't see the worry in his eyes.

John recognized when Harold was being secretive but had become accustomed to Harold confiding in him when he was ready. "I understand, Harold. We're going to fix this. Now trust me, okay?"

"Okay, Mr. Reese," Harold answered. John was a good friend to have on his side. He was grateful for that.

Harold thought back to all of the events in the past that led their paths to eventually cross. He felt guilty, so very guilty, for everything that had played out for John while he served in the CIA as a result of him and the Machine. One day he knew he could bring himself to come clean and apologize for the role he played.

"I trust you, John," Harold finally stated, interrupting the silence they were engulfed in.

John offered Harold a smile, shaking his head up and down.

They then waited in silence for John to be released so they could go home and get back to work saving the people of New York. Very little else mattered to the two men who were dedicating their current lives to the Machine's "Irrelevants" to, in some small way, pay retribution for their pasts.

It was good to have one another.

The End

A/N: Thanks again for following this story to the end. If you've come through this journey with me, let me know. It's always good to hear from those who make it from start to finish.


End file.
